The Spleen (Anne Kingsmill Finch Poems)
What art thou, SPLEEN, which ev'ry thing dost ape? Thou Proteus to abus'd Mankind, Who never yet thy real Cause ...
What art thou, SPLEEN, which ev'ry thing dost ape? Thou Proteus to abus'd Mankind, Who never yet thy real Cause ...
IN Vulgar Minds what Errors do arise! How diff'ring are the Notions, they possess, From theirs, whom better Sense ...
A Quack, to no true Skill in Physick bred, With frequent Visits cursed his Patient's Bed; Enquiring, how he did ...
While Monarchs in stern Battle strove For proud Imperial Sway; Abandon'd to his milder Love, Within a silent peaceful Grove, ...
A Gentleman, most wretched in his Lot, A wrangling and reproving Wife had got, Who, tho' she curb'd his Pleasures, ...
What art thou, SPLEEN, which ev'ry thing dost ape? Thou Proteus to abus'd Mankind, Who never yet thy real Cause ...
A Gentleman, most wretched in his Lot, A wrangling and reproving Wife had got, Who, tho' she curb'd his Pleasures, ...
A Quack, to no true Skill in Physick bred, With frequent Visits cursed his Patient's Bed; Enquiring, how he did ...
FOR He, that made, must new create us, Ere Seneca, or Epictetus, With all their serious Admonitions, Can, for the ...
While Monarchs in stern Battle strove For proud Imperial Sway; Abandon'd to his milder Love, Within a silent peaceful Grove, ...
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